


The Road to Vindication

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Community: kakairu, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A relationship is made of little things, little moments, and little glances, all joined by a string made of patient smiles, gentle touches, and comfortable silence. A series of moments-- days, months, minutes-- during the forming relationship between two of Konoha's finest.</p><p>"Don't you think that everyone deserves some form of true happiness before they die?" Iruka asked. Kakashi thought the question over. </p><p>"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Some people are just born damned from the start."</p><p>[Rating is subject to change.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Vindication

For the past fifteen minutes, the only sound to be heard was the scribbling of pen on paper. Kakashi watched the tip of the pen glide over the sheets from over his novel, and had somehow picked up on signature curves and twists enough to almost spell what was being written from just his observations alone. Though the only other company in the room was himself, his companion didn’t look up. It wasn’t to say, though, that Kakashi’s staring had gone unnoticed; he was sure that if nothing else, Iruka was observant. Yes, he recalled such a statement from the teacher’s file when he chanced across it once. Umino Iruka, twenty-seven, chuunin. Occupation: Academy instructor. The pictures clipped to the folder were neither attractive nor unflattering, as were many of shinobis’ standard shots; they were used for identification purposes only, and in a moment of brief enlightenment, Kakashi wondered if that was the reason behind the unspoken (but otherwise official) _do-not-smile_ rule. Corpses didn’t smile. Maybe it made identification easier. Huh.

And next to the otherwise average photos, there was a flag of an unusual shade of blue that he’d only ever seen on a few other individual files to date. The first time he’d asked about them (years back, as he recalled), the clerk stationed explained it to him with a slow, gentle way of speaking that would’ve infuriated a young Hatake Kakashi had he not been genuinely interested in what was being said. The flags were stickered on select individuals possessing talent enough to be called upon in a state of dire need. The concept baffled him. In a time of need, he reasoned aloud, wouldn’t the jounin, or ANBU, or even ROOT members simply be used? The clerk had responded positively, but went on to explain that these flagged persons were those skilled enough to be of notable rank, but were, for one reason or another, ranked lower than they ought to be. Kakashi recalled the conversation clearly, and with it, his reaction of mild contempt for anyone flagged with the little blue plastic. Such a person must be selfish, he thought, to wish to remain at a lower rank when their skill called otherwise; to squander talent or opportunity was, in his opinion, the most pathetic thing one could do in their line of work, and those that sought to do so couldn’t possibly be really counted as shinobi at all.

The rustle of a new sheet of paper being pulled called his attention back to the present. Looking at Iruka now, head bowed, brows furrowed, Kakashi couldn’t find a single selfish thing about him. It wouldn’t be the first time that Kakashi’s opinion as a sour-faced teen was wrong in some way. Every stroke of his pen was careful, as though Iruka was determined to be sure that each of his little comments on his students’ papers were as legible as handwriting could possibly be. Kakashi thought that Iruka was like that with just about everything he did, from grading, to teaching, to deskwork, to grocery shopping. He imagined for a moment a serious-faced, determined Iruka with grocery list in hand, ready to make the most of a perfectly-scheduled trip to the grocery store with all the effort he possessed, and it took considerable effort on Kakashi’s part not to smile at the thought.  Iruka seemed to be one of those people that one found difficult to dislike without being someone collectively agreed upon to be unpleasant by everyone around them. Though this was the jounin lounge, select chuunin had free reign of it on account of their good relations with the jounin, and Iruka was one of them. Deservingly so, Kakashi thought, considering his pleasantness both at the mission desk and in the classroom. He was well liked by both peers and parents, children and teens, shinobi and civilians. Such a person couldn’t be selfish at all. Not really. 

“Is there something I could help you with, Kakashi-sensei?”

Of course he’d noticed. With his notably better-than-most hearing, Iruka didn’t have to look up to know that for the past fifteen-odd minutes, Kakashi hadn’t turned a page of his book once. “No,” he replied. “I was just thinking.” Iruka didn’t respond, or look up, or make any notion to signal that he’d acknowledged Kakashi’s response whatsoever. It was after nearly a whole minute of silence again that Kakashi spoke: “I’m starving.”

Again, Iruka didn’t reply, or move, or nod, or anything. Kakashi realized with a hidden, brief smile that it would take some sort of otherworldly intervention, or perhaps a hunger-induced fit on his part to get Iruka’s full attention. And while he wasn’t quite in the mood to throw himself on the floor in an attempt to replicate such a crisis, he was equally sure that no higher power was set on breaking the silence in an unearthly fashion. He settled on the third, and most reasonable option:  “Let’s grab a meal. It’s past five.” And, to add to his argument (even though it really wasn’t one, and Iruka hadn’t countered with anything just yet), he continued with, “You skipped lunch.”

Iruka did look up then, and Kakashi felt unusually triumphant for a moment, as though he’d performed some small, successful feat by a stroke of luck alone. “Ten minutes,” said Iruka, glancing at the clock. “I’ll be done here in ten minutes. Is that alright?” 

Kakashi made a grunt in response, nodded, and turned back to his book. “You’re diligent.” He was wasting time, now. Filling the silence seemed to be more satisfactory than letting it continue. 

“And you are not.”

Kakashi smiled. “Ah, _sensei_ , I’m wounded.”

“You’ll be alright.”

Now Iruka was smiling, though with his head still bowed to the desk, it could’ve looked as though whatever he was reading was as amusing as their conversation was. Iruka was one of the few people in the village able and fully willing to put Kakashi in his place via light bickering, loud yelling, stern reprimanding or a combination of all three. Though with others, it was a case of them being elders and Kakashi being a wayward youngster in their eyes, it was different with Iruka; Iruka treated him as though he was, in a way, another of his students. There was the undeniable respect, of course, that any chuunin held for any jounin, but beyond that was a rough terrain of strained patience, irritation and frustration regarding Kakashi’s poorly written mission reports, and their notable difference in teaching methods. Initially, Kakashi had thought Iruka to be a meek, overly-kind, _far_ -too-emotional young man that wouldn’t really amount to anything fantastic, and one that he’d hardly remember in three years. But, as he often was, he was wrong. Witnessing Iruka’s passionate request for the teacher position surprised him; years later, the teacher’s stern, irritated lecture to him in front of the jounin and Hokage  surprised him further, but anchored in place a mental note of Iruka’s boldness. No-one had ever scolded him so harshly in public, and for it to come from someone ranks below him was something Kakashi found both amusing and tiring. He'd held him that much higher in his own regard after that. Naruto's earnest praise of him only added to his already positive opinion. 

“Ramen?” he asked, “Or BBQ?”

“The grill,” said Iruka, nodding. “You don’t like ramen.”

“How considerate of you. Am I treating?”

“No. Save it for Naruto. You know how much he eats.”

There was a comfortable silence as they both took a moment to appreciate the young blond teen fondly.  It was a few minutes again until Iruka began packing, promptly at the ten-minute mark. Kakashi rose.

The walk was a nice one, thanks in part to enjoyable weather, and they were both pleased to find the grill of choice not too crowded at all. They selected a corner booth, and ordered personal favourites. This was their sixth meal together in the past few weeks. Kakashi didn’t know why he was keeping track of them, but he wondered if Iruka was doing the same. He thought of speaking up about it, but decided against it, and pulled his mask down to sip at some cold beer. He noticed (as he noticed every time they dined together) that Iruka made a point of not staring at all. Others would, given the opportunity. Iruka didn’t. He _looked_ occasionally—naturally, as conversation flowed—but he didn’t _stare_ obnoxiously. It was appreciated, though it wasn’t done without some small joke on Iruka’s part. Naruto’s confident statement some days prior that he’d finally figured out what Kakashi looked like beneath his mask could only have stemmed from Iruka, and the colourful description of a man with thick lips, a small mouth _and_ buckteeth only confirmed Kakashi’s suspicion. He didn’t mind.

“You’re fond of the grilled pork here,” he stated, and Iruka seemed for a moment a little embarrassed.

“Well, it’s good. It’s my favourite version of it, so—and anyways, you always order the same grilled saury, too.” Kakashi smiled, and Iruka thought objectively that he could understand what Ayame meant when she gossiped to him about _‘Kakashi-san’s dreamy smile’_. He wouldn’t have called it ' _dreamy',_ but it was pleasant to look at. “Have you ever had it baked?” he asked, sipping at his own drink. When Kakashi shook his head, Iruka continued. “It’s a lot better, I think. And it’s healthier, too. That’s how I make it, usually. Quicker, too, I think.” 

“They don’t serve it like that here,” Kakashi replied conversationally.

“No, they don’t. It’s a pity. It’s really very good.” 

“Then maybe you should make it,” he said, “and invite me. As long as it isn’t fried, I’m sure I’ll like it.” He wondered for a moment if it was too bold a thing to suggest to someone he wasn’t a long-time friend to. Gai had told him many a time that he was both socially inept and astoundingly tactless at the best and worst of times. He couldn’t tell now which category this fell into. Kakashi smiled casually, and watched Iruka’s experession change from surprise, to thoughtfulness, to doubt, to something akin to a reluctant yet approving smile. Iruka was, he thought (and not for the first time), one of the most expressive people he’d met. Maybe that expressiveness had long since rubbed off on Naruto. Or maybe they were both individually expressive, and therefore drawn to each other via some unseen connection that only such optimistic, whole-hearted people shared.

“Alright. But you can’t say that you don’t like it, or something like that. If you really don’t, just lie to me.” Iruka grinned, and Kakashi returned it with a small laugh. 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, sensei. Naruto boasts of your cooking a lot.” 

It was almost childlike, the way Iruka’s face lit up at the mention of Naruto. “Does he? Oh, that little hellion—has he been doing well? Is he getting along any better with Sai-kun?” 

Kakashi nodded, saying a little about Naruto’s progress with their overall teamwork, but the thought of another upcoming dinner with Iruka kept him from saying any more. “So—tomorrow night? After your shift at the mission desk. You’re finished at six, right?” He wondered again whether that was too much to say. Funny, he thought—he’d never really been this concerned with social etiquette before. 

“Eh? Oh, yes. Sure. Yes, that works. I might need to stop at the grocery. You could tag along, if you don’t mind it.” 

Kakashi thought back to his earlier musing, and wondered if he’d get to witness a serious-faced Iruka, grocery list in hand, ready to battle the aisles of canned foods and fresh produce. “Fine with me.”

Their food arrived, and any talk of it was forgotten. The meal passed amiably, with idle chatter filling the silence. Tomorrow evening would mark the seventh meal together in three weeks. Was that so important? It must have been in some way, for him to keep going back to that. He couldn’t decide whether the importance of it was in the fact that it was a meal with Iruka in particular, or if it was the fact that aside from Gai and Yamato and his team, Iruka was the only other person he seemed to enjoy spending time with repeatedly. It was an added bonus that Iruka seemed not to mind it, either, and another bonus still that Iruka remained over the years a person to scold and lecture Kakashi at his will.  Maybe this was an overdue, well-deserved expansion of his small circle of friends.

“You’re staring again. Have I—oh, is there sauce on my—“ Iruka dabbed at his chin unnecessarily, and Kakashi chuckled. 

“There isn’t. I was just thinking that you always look so happy when you’re eating. You remind me of Naruto.”

Iruka looked startled, and half-offended. “I’m not sure how to take that.” 

“I’m not sure how I meant it.”

And when Iruka sighed, Kakashi laughed under his breath. It was a rich, low laugh that made the waitress go red in the face from two tables over. Iruka shook his head. Kakashi was thinking about the little blue flag again. He certainly couldn’t see Iruka doing a selfish thing in his life, and he’d long since understood him to be the best Academy instructor Konoha had seen. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was enough to warrant purposeful underutilization. He thought to the day in the tent, next, when Iruka had scolded him angrily for nominating Team 7 for the chuunin exams. Then, too—Iruka’s sudden outburst had startled both him and the others nearby. Again, he was taken off-guard, if only for a second. Looking at him now, contentedly working away at bits of grilled pork, he wondered what else he’d be surprised at in the future. 

“Kakashi-san?” Kakashi slipped from his thoughts and back to the present. It was the third time today he’d gone off thinking while unconsciously fixing his gaze on Iruka’s face. He’d need to correct that habit before it really became one. “Your food’s going to get cold. Or is that how you prefer it?” Before he really had a chance to explain his unnerving staring or his preference of food temperature, Iruka chuckled. “You know,” he said, carefully folding a slice of pork in two, “everyone always talks about you as though you’re some sort of _untouchable_ _entity_ —like you’re not human, or something. You’re talented; I’ll give you that. But… man, if they knew—you’re really just kind of _weird_ , aren’t you?”

 

 

 

 


End file.
